Cinnamon Milk, Wet Forest, and His Father's Jacket
by Tonight-is-frightnight
Summary: Soul knows that what he feels for that pig-tailed mortal girl is unhealthy. He desires her blood, but somehow he wants even more than that. He wants her whole being. He wants that smell of cinnamon milk, wet forest, and his father's jacket. He wants to remember. Vampire AU!
1. Chapter 1

_(A/N: Well, since everyone responded so positively to the _**_blood_**_ chapter in Soul Eater's Lemon tree, I've uploaded this into a story on it's own. Please review and leave feedback, I enjoy hearing your opinions. :) Enjoy!)_

**_Chapter 1_**

Soul Eater, his real name having escaped him after a few centuries of solitude, was a creature of the night. A blood-thirsty demon whose only mission in life was to steal the life blood from unaware victims as they slept in their beds, dreaming about happy things. He was no Incubus. He took pride in that fact. His desire for blood was deep-seated and carnal—not frivolous and purely sexual like the usual Incubus or Succubus.

No. He was a vampire. His thirst for the delicious burgundy fluid that flowed through every living being on earth was passionate and sensual. He drank because it got his heart beating again. And that in itself was all he really needed. Every human he drank from was held with the utmost care. He fed from them until he was full, leaving some still barely clinging to life and others fell into eternal sleep with his soft lips at his or her neck.

He did not discriminate against gender, for he preferred the blood of the Strong-Willed. Women with that particular flavor were hard to come by these days. He liked the very distinct spice that accompanied his favorite flavor of blood. It tasted like clove cigarettes and chili peppers, but carried off into a sort of sensual musk before ending on a delicious sweet note. It was something that reminded him of years past, a time period long-forgotten. Cinnamon milk prepared for him when his mother was still alive, the smell of his father's jacket, stolen sweets and the smell of a heavily wooded area.

Sometimes he felt that he always read too much into it. He was getting old, though his young, handsome face did not show it, and he was learning to appreciate softer, more fleeting things. He loved sitting in the park, these days, watching as people passed, ignoring him. They had no idea just how old he was and just how much he knew. Hell. Soul himself wasn't even sure just how old he was anymore. Age was a concept that had been lost to him for a very long time.

He enjoyed sitting in the park, though. People were interesting here, but nothing ever really changed. So, you could imagine his surprise when one day, when he had come across the bench he usually occupied, he saw a girl sitting there. She was plain, her ashy blond hair pulled into two pigtails on the sides of her head. She was perhaps the skinniest person Soul had seen in a long time, her legs toned and going on forever. Her head was inclined toward a raggedy 10-cent, second-hand book in her lap, her feet crossed at the ankles.

She glanced up at him as he approached her, skeptically eying his stark white hair and ruby eyes that so accurately matched his choice in drink. But, as quick as her head had twitched toward him, it was back to her book. He dropped down beside her, folding his long fingers in his lap (fingers that he was sure at some point in his childhood had been used for an instrument of some kind. A piano, perhaps?), and looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was probably of average height, he guessed. She wasn't really petite. Her face was round, yes, but she was long and gangly—An athlete's body.

"How long are you going to keep staring at me?" She asked suddenly, wrenching him from his thoughts. His eyes widened in shock and he sputtered softly before regaining his composure.

"S-sorry," He mumbled, moving his gaze to stare out at the green trees in the park before them.

She looked up from her book to stare at _him_ this time, her pig tails whipping around wildly. He looked at her then. And that was when he _smelled it._ Her scent hit him like a sledgehammer. There it was. The scent of clove cigarettes and chili peppers, the musk of a wet forest and the sweet aftertaste of sugar cookies and stolen candy. He could almost taste it. _Right there in front of him_. Cinnamon milk and his father's jacket.

She must of noticed his eyes widen considerably, for she asked suddenly, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," He coughed, his voice tight. Molten lava slid away from brilliant forest green and fixed on the trees in front of him once more.

She shrugged and went back to her book. Neither said a word.

.

.

.

Later that evening, when the rest of the city was fast asleep, dreaming pleasant dreams, Soul was pacing the streets outside of the apartment building he just _knew_ that the girl from earlier occupied. He could smell her. Her scent, common among his favorite flavor of blood, permeated the air outside the apartment complex. His enhanced olfactory senses could sniff out _exactly_ where her room was. He was furiously debating with himself on whether or not he should just float up to her level, climb in through her window, and drain her until he was full. But something was holding him back and he had no idea what it was.

Somehow, he beat back that unknown part of him that wanted to stay away and not drag her under with his insatiable thirst for her blood, and morphed into nearly invisible mist. He floated up to her balcony and slithered in through the crack between her window and its frame and materialized by her bedside. She was dressed in a plain tank-top and shorts, her clothing askew from her rolling around on the bed as she slept. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, her arms splayed about her, and for some reason, Soul found that a little too cute and endearing. He bent closer to her so that his lips were brushing softly against her neck, his warm breath fanning over her skin. She squirmed a little, but slept on.

Soul could smell her even better from this position and her scent was absolutely tantalizing. With a barely suppressed growl, he sunk his fangs into the vanilla flesh of her neck, drawing a quiet moan from her parted lips. He felt his whole body harden as the delicious gush of warm wetness dripped into his waiting mouth. It was better tasting than he had ever imagined. He hadn't had blood like this in a _long_ time, if not never. He found himself clutching desperately onto her thin frame as he fed from her. She was sort of awake, trapped in a state of aroused subconscious as he fed from her. It was a common side affect of being drained by a vampire, one that was only now, for the first time in Soul'd undead existence, becoming a problem. She let out another little moan, this time reaching up and running a hand through his snowy hair. He unintentionally let slip a grunt of pleasure before picking her up in his arms and holding her small body close to his as he finished his meal. He held her for a few minutes after words, gasping and panting into her hair. He was no Incubus. And he took pride on that fact. But never before had drinking blood been so...so..._erotic_. Her taste had been heaven and Soul wanted more of it. But he knew that if he drank any more, she would die. He decided to just bask there in her smell as she slept on. She was still curled around him and it was only when he heard her let out the most _delicious_ of noises before adjusting her hips did he realize just how much her surprisingly stimulating blood had affected him. He felt his hips thrust up into the apex of her thighs. She uttered another savory moan and he reciprocated with yet another jerk of his hips before realizing _exactly what he was doing _and quickly jumping away from her like a scalded cat. She flopped back onto her bed and lay there, not even moving as Soul stood pressed against the wall, his chest heaving with the effort to get away.

no.

no, no, no.

NO_NO_,_ no_, no, NO, nO.

Soul scrubbed his hands over his face before turning towards her window, Blood-red eyes darkened with a still-present lust slid accusingly toward her dozing shape before he leapt from her window and into the night. He told himself that he would never go back to that apartment building, but even he knew that was a lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

Maka _never_ dreamed about dreams like that. She had never in her entire life had a wet dream so real and so frighteningly passionate. She had risen from her sleep the next morning, her underwear damp, her hair mussed, and her head throbbing. She groaned and slung herself out of bed, proceeding to brush her teeth and shower. She stepped out of the bathroom stall, clean and fresh, but a niggling feeling still festering in her gut.

She struggled to put the pieces together. The man in her dream—the one that had ravaged her neck in the most impossible way—had..._white hair_? And his eyes...his eyes were a carnal ruby red. A color that she remembered to be the most distinctive. Her mind flitted back to the man that she had met the day before. Sure, he had been devastatingly attractive. But why in the world would she dream such an erotic dream about a man she didn't even _know_?

She blamed it on working to hard. She blamed it on her lack of a boyfriend recently. SHe blamed it on being busy taking care of her best friend Black*Star and his idiotic ways. But there was no way in _Hell_ that she was going to blame it on the fact that she was really really horny lately and that some attractive dude from the park had lulled her into a hormonal frenzy later that night.

She got dressed and prepared to leave for work, but stopped. She looked back at her bed sitting innocently against her wall, and wished—for the most fleeting moment—that she would have another dream just like the one that had got her all worked up the night before.

And sure enough, a week later, Soul Eater was back. He was back and he hated it. He was standing outside her building again, but this time he wasn't pacing. He was just standing there—In a sweltering heat that had not been present when he had last visited her—looking up at her balcony from the side walk. The soft breeze ruffled through his silvery hair, providing a bit of relief from the musty heat of the night, but carrying with it the scent of that girl that so solidly represented his misery at that moment.

The night before, he had tried to quench his lingering thirst by feeding from a sassy barmaid, but he had left her near death, his hunger anything but sated. His thoughts had kept straying to the girl that had piqued his interest earlier that week, even as he had fed from the poor barmaid. No matter what he did, every substitute seemed to lack the potency that the pig-tailed girl had carried in her blood. She had hardly said two sentences to him, but her scent and taste promised even more pleasurable snark to keep him both entertained and ravenous.

And so here he was, a week after their initial meeting, waiting like a stalker outside her balcony. Soul let out a disgruntled moan as he ran a hand through his hair, massaging his throbbing scalp as he went. He didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to stay away from her. The side of him that so desperately wanted another taste of her was winning and his control was wearing thin.

He growled loudly before shifting into his mist form and gliding up to her window. He was a bit surprised to find it wide open, but he blamed the heat and this girls obvious sensibility. He fluttered through her window and materialized in mid air, landing with a near-silent thump, his glossy dress shoes muffled against her shag carpet. He straightened his expensive, pin-striped, Italian suit and drew his eyes over to her bed. She was lying on top of her bed, arms and legs thrown out willy-nilly around her like they were the first time. She had forgone the sheet today, for it was so hot. But then, he noticed her lack of bottoms.

Soul tried his hardest to prevent himself from smacking his forehead against the wall in an attempt to clear his head. He managed, but he could not suppress the quiet groan that escaped his lips. She snuffled in her sleep and rolled over, thankfully ignoring Soul's amateur outburst.

When Soul's crimson eyes travelled over her prone form, he noticed the subtle curve of her hips and her bust, noting with a pleased growl the two pinpricks that were so obviously his. Normally, any self-respecting vampire would have healed the wound with some of their saliva, a remedy used for generations in the vampire society. Soul argued with himself once more. Should he heal this time? Prevent her from discovering his presence? No, he decided. He liked the way his fangs had marked her creamy skin as his own. It was an unnaturally possessive decision for Soul, but he had already prepared himself for unnatural happenings with this girl. He wasn't even supposed to have visited her (or any human for that matter) more than once.

He stalked toward her like a great cat and leaned over her so that his arms caged her head, one knee up on the mattress. She mumbled something in her sleep, something that soul did not catch, but carried on in her dreaming.

There was that smell again. It clogged his senses as he bent down to taste her. He licked over her old wounds, watching with fascination as the wounds disappeared completely, His tongue was already burning with the taste of her. He could feel his abdominal muscles clench in anticipation. He took a shaky breath, preparing himself.

And then, he plunged his twin fangs into her neck once more. He moaned loudly at the taste of her. She might have woken up at his outburst, but ignored it for she was already under a trance. She arched her body off the mattress, letting out a breathy, feminine sigh as he drank slowly, trying to prolong the moment. He wanted to just let go and moan again—her taste and her voice and her _feel_ were almost overwhelming him. She arched again, letting out a sharp, crystal clear cry. It was like a quiet scream, permeating the dusty air.

She clutched the front of his suit and he felt himself tense in fear for a moment. Perhaps she had awoken from the trance, perhaps he was caught! But no, she was pulling him closer. Her breath was burning at his ear. She was panting and _gasping_ and _he could hear it_. He shifted his knee in between her legs as he continued to slowly suckle droplets of blood from her wounds, hoping to prolong the moment. But, when she began to _grind against his thigh_, Soul know that there was no longer any holding back. He scooped her up in his arms, letting her straddle his lap as he fed from her. She was still technically asleep, but responded like she was completely awake. He knew she would wake up and just think this was some sort of wet dream, but Soul really couldn't bring himself to care. She let out a cute little gasp every time he bucked his hips against her, his lips still on her neck. He was struggling to keep from drinking her dry, so he lapped up the blood, closing her wounds in the process. He missed the look of his fang marks on her skin, but he was still preoccupied with her steadily-gyrating hips against him. She was still asleep. She was still asleep. She was _still_ _asleep_. This was his excuse. He had to _get out_. Preferably before she woke up. But he couldn't stop the jerky movement of his pelvis as he feverishly continued to grind his ever-hardening cock against her damp underwear. His pants were becoming troublesome, so he reached between them and nearly tore open his fly. Then, feeling his hand against the fabric of her underwear, The Pig-Tailed Girl jerked her hips against his hands, uttering a delicious cry that fuddled his nerves beyond any comprehensible level he'd ever experienced. His eyes were glazed over in delight as he caressed her clit through her underwear, his own mouth open and gasping as she continued to please his dick in a more simple way than would ever be necessary to please _her_.

He could feel her shuddering against him as she came, the insane twitching of her hips causing him to find his own end. She whispered something as she climaxed, something that he bent down just in time to hear.

"_Soul_," She gasped, lips parted for air.

Soul froze. Then suddenly, without any consent from him, his own lips parted.

"_Maka_," He panted, eyes still glazed in pleasure.

And then, he knew. He knew who and what she was.

And he knew, with an equivalent certainty, that he needed to get out of her apartment.

_NOW._

_(A/N: Second chapter done! I'm happy I got two done in one day. Please review—leave me your critiques. I'm always open for criticism. :))_


	3. Chapter 3

When Soul realized just how much trouble he was in at the moment, it killed any arousal he could possibly have after that _blissful orgasm_ that had just occurred in his pants mere moments ago. He had never met this girl before in his entire immortal life. And she, as far as he knew, had never met him either. So why had she just gasped his name like a prayer as she clutched onto the front of his skewed, Italian suit?

But even more importantly, why had _he_ gasped her name in turn? He had felt her name roll of his tongue and it had indeed tasted delicious. But how on earth had he come to know it?

There was only one explanation that Soul could think of at the moment. And it wasn't a good one.

.

.

.

_"Soul," The man purred. His skin seemed red in this light, even though there was hardly any light at all. The room that they sat in seemed to go on forever—black, velvet curtains slithered down walls that Soul had not been able to make out, even with his heightened vision. The man who had said his name arched a clawed finger in Soul's direction, beckoning him forward. little yellow eyes pierced into Soul as he walked forward, dress shoes clicking over red and black checkered tile._

_"Yeah?" Soul drawled, his voice it's usual, bored pitch. He looked up at his Maker from across the room, having previously made himself comfortable in order to listen to the soft music that was playing on the phonograph—even though it skipped sometimes. It was the 19th Century and they were stationed in England. They moved back and forth between countries over the years. These days, they stayed in england, preferring to stay far between America's smoggy industrial period. A few decades later, they would move to Switzerland to get away from the wars I and II. Mostly, the move would be to get away from trivial, mortal matters, but it was also because Soul kind of had a weakness for chocolate._

_"Have you found your Bride yet?" The man asked, straightening his own expensive tailor suit as he stood up. The man was considerably shorter than Soul, but still held a power of him that Soul would never be able to place._

_Soul grunted a little, playing with his black tie that was fastened loosely under the collar of the crimson shirt that matched his eyes precisely. His black vest was fastened and form-fitting, pulled taught across his broad shoulders and chest. "Haven't found her yet," Soul grumbled, taking a tentative sip of the dark wine in a glass that seemed to appear in his hand out of nowhere. He preferred whiskey, brandy, or scotch, or anything else really. But his Maker had given him wine and he would drink it. No matter how much he hated it._

_His Maker tutted disappointedly. "Ah, Soul. When will you understand? You need your Bride to reach your full potential. You absolutely must find her," The man said in a cheery and distant-sounding voice. "Have you tried sniffing her out yet?"_

_"Yeah, that didn't work."_

_"Calling her name?"_

_"I don't even know it."_

_There was an awkward pause and Soul's Maker pursed his lips. "What do you mean, you don't know it?!" He hissed, suddenly angry._

_Soul rolled his eyes, even though he knew it was an insolent move. "I mean what I mean. I don't know her name."_

_"This is bad. That means that she is not even born yet. My plans have to be postponed once more," The shorter man grumbled._

_"Plans?" Soul asked curiously._

_"Never you mind. Looks like we need to lay low for another century or two," The Maker said, taking a dainty sip of his wine. Soul fought back a grimace, but sipped his own glass anyway. He didn't want to wait around anymore—especially not when he had no idea what he was waiting for. But he was going to do it anyway._

And now his waiting was over. He really _really_ needed to get out of there. But, it seemed like now that he knew exactly what this girl was—his Bride—he could not budge from her spot. His arms were cemented around her slim body, and he could feel her and...

uh-oh.

She was waking up.

The girl called Maka snuffled in her sleep and stretched her arms as she awoke from her dream. But Soul was frozen to the spot, his arms still caged around her. She looked up at him and Soul held his breath.

"Good morning," She cooed, looking up at him and grinning a sultry, sleep-clogged smile. Then she realized what she had just said and the reality of the physical world hit her like a sledge hammer. "GOOD MORNING?!" She screeched again, tumbling from his arms and onto the floor in the process. She was weak from the blood loss, but still scrambled to get as far away from him as possible, grabbing a book on her way and brandishing it in front of her like a weapon.

"Shit, shit shit!" Soul whispered harshly, struggling to get closer to her to cover her mouth. But in the process, he realized that his fly was undone and a very unattractive wet stain was pasted to the front of his trousers. He hissed in embarrassment, but zipped them up anyway. The motion drew her attention to his crotch and her resulting expression was priceless. He would've died laughing if he weren't in his current situation.

"WhAT—Wh-WHATTT?!" She screeched again.

"SHhhhhh!" Soul hushed, putting a finger to his lips. Her mouth opened and closed, making her look like a dying fish.

"DID WE—No...—WE DID, DIDN'T WE?!" She cried.

"What? No!" Soul said.

"YOU FUCKING LIAR!" She screamed.

And that was when Soul dived on top of her and clamped a hand on her mouth. She squealed and fought back, but Soul held fast.

"Please! I'm not gonna hurt you!" Soul hissed. "Now, I'll let you go, but only if you promise to behave."

Maka thought about it for a few seconds. Perhaps she could escape when he wasn't looking. Maybe she could get her hands on a letter opener and properly disembowel him before fleeing. She nodded her head sharply, verdant orbs glaring at him fiercely. Soul ignored the beam of heat that shot down his spine and pooled in his stomach and released her.

He kneeled in front of her, looking and feeling much less cool than any self-respecting vampire should. His hair was disheveled, his suit crumpled, his crotch stained with come, and lastly, his face still flushed and his eyes still hazy from their little romp.

Maka looked at him, instantly recognizing him as the man from the park the week before. Only this time, he was in a much more erotic state than the one she had first seen him in, but more vivid than he was in her dreams.

"I...am not a rapist," Soul clarified, holding a finger up to make his point. Maka scowled, but kept her mouth shut. Then, she subtly glanced around the room, remembering that she need to find an escape route. She turned her eyes back to him when he began to speak again. "I swear to God," He added.

"Dude, you were fucking on top of me," Maka hissed, thoroughly frightened and angry.

"I know. I know. I can explain that," He said.

"Can you explain that stain on your pants?" She hissed, green eyes spitting venom.

"I said I could explain the fact that _I was on top of you_," Soul growled. If he were still alive, he might have been blushing furiously at that moment. But right now, he had never been more grateful for the fact that blood no longer pumped through his veins.

"Well, fine. Explain what you can. Before I kill you," She growled in return, brandishing her book again.

Soul was aware of his problem. He could picture it. _The reason I was on top of you is because I am a vampire and I was drinking your blood._ He almost groaned in frustration, but held himself back. _And the reason that I have fucking _**_spunk_**_coating the front of my pants is because you're my bride and we're destined to be together and one of the many debilitating side effects of that is uncontrollable lust_.

Fuck it, he might as well just say it. "I'mavampire," He said quickly, not giving himself a chance to falter.

"Haha, what?" Maka said, laughing nervously. Oh, she had heard him alright. But she couldn't believe it.

"I am a vampire," He said, slower this time. She looked at him disbelievingly, like she was going to laugh again. "Here! If you don't believe me, then listen to my heartbeat. I guarantee you, there isn't one.

She didn't seem to want to get any closer to him, so he thrust his wrist out. Her fingers slowly reached out and felt for a pulse, but didn't find one.

"Whatever, maybe I just can't find it," She said.

Soul groaned and brought the same wrist up to his mouth and bit down hard, breaking the skin. No blood flowed from the wound and she gasped. He had clearly torn a hole through the skin, but not even a red mark formed around it. Then, he did something that cemented her belief. He ran his tongue over the wound, sealing it immediately.

He glanced at her, taking in her gaping mouth and wide eyes. "Believe me now?" He asked, his voice of a slightly irritated timbre.

She gasped hotly.

_"Vampire,"_ She said.

"Yes, ma'am. And you're my Bride."

_(A/N edit: okay, so I feel really stupid. a fabulous anon brought this to my attention. Erections are clearly caused by blood flow and I totally forgot. I don't even know he someone can forget the physics of an erection when they spend their free time writing lemons and the like. Thankfully, I already had an explanation for unnatural blood flow within a vampire, so I don't have to rewrite ths chapter. YOU SHALL SOON FIND OUT EXACTLY WHY IT IS THAT SOUL, A VAMPIRE WTH NO BLOOD FLOW, HAS MANAGED TO GET A BONER. NEXT WEEK ON CINNAMON MILK, WET FOREST, AND HIS FATHER'S JACKET. Tah-tah, darlings and thanks again, mysterious vigilante of just erectile justice.)_


	4. Chapter 4

_(A/N: I'm really sorry that I haven't been updating lately. I've been trying to recharge my batteries because I've been getting really lazy with my writing lately and I want everything to be of the best quality for you guys. Thanks to those who corrected many of my mistakes, I've seen the error of my ways. Thanks and enjoy, I hope this chappie is up to par. :))_

**_Chapter 4_**

_"Vampire,"_ She said.

"Yes, ma'am. And you're my Bride."

These were the words that had been spoken between them in the hot night air. Maka trembled beneath his heated gaze. Those crimson, glassy eyes bored into her very soul and she did not like it one bit.

_How_ could this be happening to her?! This kind of thing only happened in story books (and not the kind _she_ liked to read, thank you very much). She debated on whether or not she should throw her nearest copy of _Voltaire's Complete Philosophy _at his face, but then reconsidered. If he really was a vampire—or at least _something_ supernatural, as he had just proved, then he could easily kill her if she provoked him. She was notoriously adept at provoking things.

While she was struggling with her thoughts, the man—the _vampire_—stood up and straightened his pinstriped jacket, somehow managing to look quite dignified regardless of the wet stain on his crotch. The man (Vampire) looked like some sort of young mafioso standing there in her modest apartment, hair as white as snow, slicked back with sweat, ruby eyes shining brilliantly, the fabric of his suit stretched tightly across his broad shoulders...she snapped her gaze away from him and he stole a glance at his expensive watch before looking down at her again. "Listen. The sun is going to rise soon. For obvious reasons, I need to scram." She sputtered indignantly, torn between anger (How _dare_ he?! He just barged into her room, gave her a passionate once-over and then called himself a vampire and now he wanted to leave?!) and agreement. "I'll be back, I guess. I'm sure you want an explanation and that's something I can't give you right now."

She ended up nodding sharply, earning a grin from the white-haired creature. There was a pause. "I'm Maka," She said.

"I know," He said, his grin remaining.

"Well? Who are _you_?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm Soul Eater," He chuckled. She was so fiery and it felt like she was burning a hole through his dead heart. He felt the need to feed from her again. Maybe if her blood got his heart pumping again, blood gushing through his bone-dry veins, the burning would intensify. Maybe he could hold back another inconvenient (what was it kids called it these days? Oh yeah) boner. Though he doubted it.

She cleared her throat, trying not to laugh at his obviously false moniker. "I thought you had a sunrise to outrun."

He laughed this time, not a chuckle, and gave a cheeky little wave as he climbed out of the apartment through her window. He landed with a clang on her fire escape. He smiled again, more to himself than to anyone else, and quickly morphed into a bat. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. He could see a few rays of sunlight creeping over the mountains. He flew off into the waning darkness, leaving a still shocked Maka on the carpet.

_How cliché_, she thought as she watched the small albino bat fly off into the distance. At least he was sticking to Bram Stoker's version of things. She definitely preferred that over this _Twilight_ business. But, much to her chagrin, things were certainly turning out to be exactly like that despicable novel's (dare she even call it that?) plot line. She groaned and smacked herself on the forehead. She remembered a time, long, _long_, ago, when she actually read books of that persuasion. She had picked up books like that, hoping for strong female leads and some good, old-fashioned _smut_. She was disappointed in the former but stuck through that entire _god-forsaken series_ just to see if there was some kinky escapades on the other side. All that, only to have her dreams crushed before sex, only drama and a creepy baby.

And now, here she was, tossed into a world of vampires with a particularly good-looking, albino blood-sucker starring in her most lewd of wet dreams. She really_, really_, didn't want to go down that road, but she knew that there wasn't exactly a choice. She felt her throat constrict as she stood up from her place on the floor. What was she _doing_? She need to run, she needed to escape, she needed—

She needed to fight back. That _Soul Eater_ guy (vampire) had called her his _bride_. It was an outright challenge, she knew it. Things like this only happened in fairy tales and Maka would be damned if she walked out of a fairy tale, no matter how hard to swallow it might be. Something was finally happening to her and it was absolutely glorious. She clenched her fists against her breast and said roughly to herself, "All right. You are Maka Albarn. This is what you _do._ You kick_ ass._"

.

.

.

"Maka? Maka!" A timid, but firm voice said, cutting Maka out of her thoughts with the snap of a pair of carefully manicured finger tips. Maka fiddled with her rough, bitten ones on the table. They were in a small, but crowded coffee shop, somewhere. She wasn't really sure.

Her friend, Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, looked at her, the buxom woman's face the poster child of motherly concern. "Are you okay, Maka?" She asked.

Another woman, Maka's other friend (even though she was quite frivolous and shallow) piped up from the other end of the table, "It's a guy." The woman flipped a mane of honey-colored hair over her shoulder and shifted in her tight, blue dress.

Tsubaki looked at Maka with wide, cerulean eyes, her mouth gaping. This never ceased to amaze Maka. How could any woman emote so exaggeratedly while still looking so pretty?

"It's not, Liz," She sighed in the other girl's direction. She sounded surprisingly calm, even to herself. "I just haven't been getting much sleep."

"Bull shit," Liz said nonchalantly, examining her perfectly lacquered nails, their crimson color reminding her of that _vampire's_ eyes, which was definitely not something she wanted at the moment.

Tsubaki sighed when Maka's eyebrow twitched in annoyance at Liz's comment. She placed a calming hand on the fuming blonde's arm and said, "Maka. I think you've been working too hard, what with the shop and school and your father—"

Maka sighed, but did not flinch away from Tsubaki at the mention of her father and the bookstore that she was trying to run. It was proving difficult. The store was _surviving_, but it wasn't _thriving_ and the thought of not completely excelling at something troubled her greatly. She tugged on the low braid that hung over her shoulder as she remained deep in thought. She felt unbelievably uncomfortable in her oversized, navy blue sweater and soft periwinkle skirt. Her raspberry tights felt constricting on her pale skin. She wasn't even sure her outfit _matched _today and yet her she sat with a pair of stylish and beautiful young woman, both with larger breasts than Maka could ever hope to have. She stole a glance at Liz's sexy heels and Tsubaki's sensible, but feminine flats from under the table and suddenly her combat boots felt heavier on her feet.

How could she be the bride of some unnaturally handsome, albino vampire when there were many, more attractive women out there? Maka took a sip of the coffee that she couldn't remember ordering and felt warm relief flood her senses. She glanced out the window, her verdant gaze watching as orange, red, and yellow leaves fell from trees only to litter the sidewalk as people passed, wrapped snugly in their fall clothes. It was sweater weather and Maka was glad, even if it made her feel ugly.

"I'm thinking about starting a website, y'know," Maka said, turning back to her friends. She smirked as she watched Liz wink and wiggle her fingers suggestively at a skinny barista-boy. Her smirk grew wider when the kid nearly dropped a customers coffee as he handed it over.

"Oh, that's great, Maka!" Tsubaki exclaimed, clapping her hands together happily. "You know I would help, but I've never been fiddling with things like that."

"Oh, but you know, Black*Star is," Liz said, a tiny smirk playing on her ruby lips. Maka had no idea how Liz always managed to lace otherwise completely normal sentences with sexual innuendo. Tsubaki blushed crimson. And Maka couldn't help but laugh. Liz took a dainty sip of her latte before saying, "Sorry, Tsu. Couldn't help it."

"I-it's okay, Liz," Tsubaki said, still reeling from embarrassment.

"Liz you shouldn't tease her," Maka cut in. "Or do I need to remind you of your lack of success with Kidd?" She laughed louder this time when Liz flushed red this time.

"Dammit, Maka!" The other blonde hissed. "This is why you need a man in your life! So I can tease you about it!"

"What can I say? I'm a hard girl to please," Maka shrugged before grinning deviously. She could feel her sweater slipping down her shoulder so she tugged it back up before it could reveal her flimsy bra strap.

"Well, maybe if you showed more skin..." Liz said, eyeing the movement.

"Liz, I am not going to put my body on display just for a man," She returned indignantly (And yet, she just wanted some God damned_ boobs_).

"Honey, please," Liz returned, holding a hand up and scoffing.

The banter continued on for almost an hour before the three friends decided that they should split up for the day. They promised to meet up later that week before walking out the door together and heading their separate ways, Maka down one street, Liz and Tsubaki down the other. The blonde adjusted her messenger bag on her shoulder as she continued down the street back to her apartment. She adjusted her sleeve again so her bra strap wouldn't show and she couldn't help but think just how tired she was. She was approximately 500% done with this day and she just wanted it to be night again so that she could finally get some answers.

Her thoughts flitted briefly to the albino vampire that had been peppering her thoughts (and dreams) for the past few days before she snatched them away. She didn't want to think about that disturbingly handsome man and the way he had looked so dignified—even with a cum-stain on his pants. She _especially_ didn't want to think about the fabric of his expensive-looking suit pulled taught across his chest.

She blew out a sharp puff of hair as she finally rounded the corner and her big, grey apartment building loomed into view. She had felt her cheeks puff and her lip jut out childishly, but she had chosen to ignore it. A furrow appeared between her eyebrows as she stomped up the stairs to her apartment. She wasn't terribly excited for the night to come. No wait, that was a lie. She was quite excited, actually. She was excited for the answers and the knowledge to come, but honestly, she was dreading what would happen if that vampire came into her room again and neither of them could contain themselves.

Maka opened the door to her apartment and walked in, closing and locking it behind her. She tossed her bag into a dark corner somewhere before flopping onto her messy bed. She let out a muffled scream into her bed fabric. Oh _God_, what was she going to _do_? She had just had a run in with a supposedly mythical creature before going to a coffee shop with her friends later that day, only to feel bad about herself because she dressed like a lazy college _kid_ while her companions dressed like grown women and because she didn't have the tits or ass to actually _fill_ anything a grown woman should be wearing. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It was gonna be a long wait for that albino vampire to come back.

And _oh, shit_ this was turning out to be just like _Twilight,_ wasn't it? Maka let out another groan as she shifted to get comfortable on her bed. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed, still encased in combat boots and her braid was all fucked up and her sweater had slid off her shoulder and her bra strap was showing, but she didn't move to fix it. This whole vampire business wasn't going to end well. She could tell. Someone was going to get their ass _killed_.

_(A/N: Okay, just to clarify things, Soul's blood gets pumping again when he feeds, hence the boners that shouldn't be happening because he's technically _**_dead._**_ Anyway, I promise to update soon. Well, I at least promise to try. hehe.)_


	5. Chapter 5

**_(A/N: Sorry, Guys. I'm gonna test out a change of tense. Please let me know if you find it odd, or if you like it. Thanks!)_**

_Soul Evans can almost hear the silence as he lays there on a worn, tiled floor. His vision tunnels and ahead of him, where there should be light like he has been told so many times before, there is only darkness. He was raised to be a good, God-fearing man. He was raised to believe in things like heaven and hell. His blood is running over the old tile, soaking into the mortar, and he is sure that he will die soon._

_But now, as he lies gasping for breath in the very church he visited with his family—the very church in which he played organ for mass every Sunday morning, he only saw darkness. Not the pearly gates he had been promised if he spent his life as a good person, not the flames he had feared if he sinned. No. There was absolutely nothing and Soul didn't know how, but in that moment, 23 years of faith were erased in the blink of an eye._

_His blood has not stopped flowing over the last few seconds and his breathing has not steadied, but he continues to lie there, waiting with foggy senses as the feeling leaves his extremities. _

_Why is he here? He should be back at home. He should be sleeping. He should be practicing the piano, that strange new contraption invented not too long ago. His fingers twitch at the though of his piano sitting at home, a present from the Medicis, rich and powerful friends of the Evans Family. Soul sighs into the silence and blood drips down the corner of his mouth. His heart is slowing. He can feel it. His torso is bisected and blood is pooling around his body and he can _**_feel_**_ his heart slowing. He is cold and alone and he can feel his heart struggle and flounder in his chest cavity._

_..._

_When a short, but imposing figure steps through the shadows and halts on the tile in front of him, Soul doesn't notice. He's too busy dying. Then, the figure steps daintily into the puddle of flowing blood on the floor and steps forward, expensive shoes making small, almost inaudible splashing noises in the dark liquid._

_"Young man," The figure says softly. Soul cracks an eye and his heart pumps a little stronger to accompany his curiosity. Soul does not answer, but the shadow knows that he is listening. "Young man, I have a proposition for you." He is speaking Italian and Soul can understand every word he is saying, but there is an odd thickness to his words. The stranger's voice is like molasses and Soul is drowning in it. The stranger speaks fluently, not tripping over a single word, but that thickness is there, almost like an accent, but not distinctive enough for Soul to tell what it could be._

_"Listen to me, boy," The stranger says, snapping his fingers at the fading Soul. The man—the _**_boy_**_—cracks an eye open again and the figure continues, satisfied. "I am offering you something precious, something you would be a fool to pass up," He continues. "I can save you, little one. I can save you and offer you immortality. Are you willing?"_

_Soul does not answer, but his dangerously slow heart is permission enough._

_The figure is gentle when he kneels beside Soul's limp body. He cradles him in his arms, like a father with his child, and holds him to his chest. The stranger is so short and Soul so tall, that it is almost funny how he holds him. But Soul welcomes the touch because he was cold and so alone._

_There is no warning, no dramatic preamble, just the sound of squishing flesh as the stranger bites into Soul's neck. He takes only a sip, for if he took any more, then Soul would surely die. But a sip is enough, because the stranger's blood is pumping again, his heart pumping so loud in the darkness, even Soul can hear it, faint and fluttering like a bird._

_The man bites into his wrist, then. Crimson fluid dripping from the wound there. He had almost forgotten what his own blood looked like. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. He brings the open wound to Soul's mouth. "Drink," He orders calmly. And Soul obeys, chapped lips puckering around the torn flesh to suck greedily at the blood there. The stranger wrenches his wrist away suddenly, hissing a command to stop as he does so, and Soul sighs his way into his final breath. He realizes with sudden clarity what is going to happen to him. Soul knows suddenly what is about to happen to him, so he opens his mouth to curse the stranger to hell and back. But Death claims him before he can. Simple. Fast. Infinite._

_And then he opens his eyes._

_And he is home._

_._

_._

_._

Soul is petting his cat's head and reading _The Phantom of the Opera_ with a cup of tea when there is a knock on his door. He finds it odd because he doesn't really know anybody, or at least anybody that would visit him in the daytime. He also finds it odd because he is currently living in an abandoned house a few miles outside of town, tucked away amongst the trees (that remind him of a certain girl's pretty eyes). It smells like ash and rot, but it does it for Soul. He can even go outside during the day, sometimes, for the trees offer spectacular shade.

So why is someone knocking on his door?

Soul gets up from his armchair and strides to the door, hands in his jean pockets. He looks through the cracked peep-hole in his front door and frowns. Not one, but _two_ people are standing out there. And he doesn't really want to see them.

But he opens the door anyway, shielding himself from the faint rays of light that filter in, and the two people walk in.

"Stein," Soul grunts as he closes the door behind them. The woman, whom he has never seen before, is blond and pretty when she smiles kindly at him. Her companion, tall and cloaked, pulls back his hood and reveals a shock of grey hair. It is wild and unkempt, like that of a man who has been frightened so badly, his hair loses its pigment. The man, Stein, pushes up a pair of square glasses and they glint maliciously even in the gloom of Soul's residence.

"'Evening, Soul," Stein says, his voice boring and monotonous.

"What are you doing here, Stein?" Soul drawls, his arms folded across his broad chest. Blaire weaves in between his ankles and meows softly. His gaze flicks to the woman beside Stein and adds in his famous drawl, "With a human, no less."

"Ah, yes. This is Marie. Marie, this is Soul," Stein says, casting eyes the color of pond scum in her direction. (They are pale and dull, nothing compared to _her's_).

"How do you do?" Marie says brightly, holding out an elegant hand for Soul to shake. he ignores it and she lets it drop, looking sad.

Soul immediately regrets his insult towards her, but does not apologize. "Is she your servant, Stein? I thought you had more class than that."

"She is a companion, Soul. It gets lonely, these long millennia, and I have felt that loneliness." He pauses. "And I'm sure you have too."

Blaire yowls from somewhere else in the house and Soul flicks crimson eyes to pond-scum-green and hums a reply. It is dubious and evasive and he sees the recognition in Stein's raised eyebrow and his irritating smirk.

"So. Why have you come here?" Soul asks again, bringing the subject back to where he wants it to be.

Stein's face suddenly darkens and Soul fears the worst. "It seems we have found a Relic."

"Oh?" He can't see why this is such a big deal. Relics—items that belonged to vampires while they were still human—are found all the time. Why is this suddenly worth visiting him in the dead of morning? "What of it?" He continues, shrugging. Blaire comes back out from some back room and meows, starving for attention.

Stein looks at Marie, who lightly presses her fingers into his arm. he takes the touch as reassurance because he suddenly begins speaking again. "We've found one of yours, _Soul Evans_."

And then suddenly, Soul's vision is tunneling and for some reason, he expects there to be a light at the end of the tunnel, but there isn't. There aren't even any flames and it all seems so familiar and painful, like he is losing a faith that used to be such an integral part of his life. He is losing his God all over again and he can't pinpoint why it feels like a replay. He remembers bustling, early 18th century Italian streets and a large, ornate cathedral and family, and whispers of family and friends, the notes of a piano solo—the first of its kind. Blood. Pain. Death.

"What is it?" Soul asks, the steadiness of his voice surprising even himself.

There is a pause, and then Stein pulls something out of his pocket. A small object is wrapped in red velvet and suddenly Soul feels an overwhelming urge to rip it from him and hide it away from the world. He controls himself and Stein unwraps the velvet and there, nestled in his palm, is a single piano key, carved from the finest ivory but greyed with age. There is a smear of brown on the end of it, as if someone had picked it up with bloody fingers.

There is a sound in Soul's heart as if someone has just smashed their fists against piano keys and it echoes within him. He reaches out to take the key from Stein and he lets him, letting his hand drop to his side as Soul takes the velvet, key still balanced on it and presses it gently into his chest. He feels for a moment as if his heart had just given a feeble beat.

"Where," He demands, voice still strong.

"In your grave, actually. Well—your family tomb to be more precise."

"My...My...Oh, Jesus," Soul says, sinking into his armchair.

"We came to give it to you," Marie pipes up suddenly. Her voice his timid, but she looks determined. "But we also came to tell you something. Soul Eater Evans, there is blood in your past. And this Relic promises blood in your future. It is a key in more ways than one, honey. And if you run from it, _he _will surely find you. _He_ will surely find you and those you love."

"You're a _seer_, aren't you?" Soul breathes, looking at Marie with disbelief. She clutches at Stein's arm and he pats her hand reassuringly.

"Yes, she is," Stein answers for her. "So you should listen to her advice." He pulls his hood over his head hurriedly. "We'll be in touch," He drones.

And then suddenly, they are out the door.

And Soul is left to his thoughts.

.

.

.

When Maka wakes up later that night, it is not because there is a burglar, it is not because she cannot sleep. It is because there is a suspiciously polite knocking on her window. She sits up in bed, her hair bouncing along with her in a tousled, ashen blond mess and she whips her head in the direction of her window. Soul is standing there on her fire escape, on hand in his pocket, the other waving at her through the glass. He is wearing a plain white button down with the sleeves pushed up around his elbows and _suspenders _of all things and Maka would have laughed at how much he looked like an old man in that moment if he weren't so _damn attractive in them_. She flings the covers from her body and scurries to the window, trying to not to trip over her legs like a new-born foal. She flings open her window and looks at him, eyes wide and green.

"Wow, you really came," She breathes.

"Did you expect me not to? He chuckles, but it sounds off. Like something is bothering him. But she doesn't ask. "Now are you gonna let me in or not. It's freezin' out here."

She steps out of the way and he jumps into her room, landing on the carpet without a sound. He turns around and notices that his shirt is partially untucked. She fights the urge to shove her hands down his pants and tuck it back in place. She composes herself. "All right, bub, I want answers."

Soul is picking up the copy of _Voltaire's complete works_ that she almost killed him with the other night. "I remember him," He says softly with a smile.

"Are you even listening to me?! Soul!" She hits him on the back of the head with an Edgar Allen Poe anthology and he collapses onto her bed, clutching his head in pain and shock.

"OW!" He hisses. This just wasn't fair. She was the only human that could cripple him with sexual attraction, but now she is the only human that cripple him with physical pain as well. But he had sent up a puff of her sent when he collapsed on her bed. he groans and it passes off as one of pain, so he manages to get away with discreetly burying his nose in her sheets.

"I told you, I want answers," She growls. "If you aren't going to give them to me, then leave."

He sighs and flops back on her cushions. His hair is mussed and his shirt is riding up, revealing a strip of skin that too tan for a _vampire_. "Fine, what d'you wanna know?"

"I already know the gist of the vampire crap, so let's cut to the chase. What is this "bride" business you've been spewing?" She points her book at him accusingly and he suddenly becomes hyper aware of every single book in the room that she has at her disposal. And there are a _lot_ of them.

"Ugh, that's pretty much the hardest question," He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"Answer it," She demands.

She has those eyes trained on him now. He's helpless. "See...It's kind of like getting married, I guess...That's probably where the name comes from," He hears her indignant squawk, so he continues to spare his hide. "When a vampire comes into contact with their destined bride, for example, when they feed from them, they...lose all desire for all other blood. They only crave their bride's and are thus bonded to them forever."

Maka hums her understanding. "But what happens when the bride dies? He or She stays human, right?"

Soul pauses and Maka is suddenly afraid of his answer. "...There aren't many cases of a vampire finding his bride...but..."

"But? But what?"

"Once a vampire bride dies, her groom dies soon after."

Maka frowns. "How?"

"Grief," Soul deadpans and his gaze flicks to hers. His hair is shading his face and she feels the sudden urge to reach out and brush his cheek. She stamps it down with all the other urges she feels around him.

"Oh," She answers.

"Yeah."

There is silence.

"Do you have anymore questions?" He asks.

She wanted to ask him how he..."got it up" during their earlier midnight trysts if his blood didn't flow, but that was _far_ to embarrassing of a question.

"Are you okay?" She finally asks. She sits down beside him on the bed. He looks at her and nods. The piano key weighs heavily in his pocket and Marie's words echo in his head.

_Soul Eater Evans, there is blood in your past. And this Relic promises blood in your future. It is a key in more ways than one, honey. And if you run from it, he will surely find you. He will surely find you and those you love._

There is the sound of smashed piano keys again.

"Yeah," He answers, looking up to smile at her.

"I'm fine."

_(A/N: Sorry for the slow updates, guys. I've been really busy lately. BUT. GUESS WHAT? IT'S WINTER BREAK. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? MORE UPDATES! YYAAAAAYYYYY! So, stay classy, stay sassy, stay tuned.)_


	6. Chapter 6

If Soul has realized one thing, it is exactly how inconvenient his attraction to Maka actually is. She is on her bed, asking him odd questions about mundane things in his life. (_do you miss the sun? What is your favorite flavor of tea? Do you have a pet? What is your favorite book? Can you sense things better than humans? What does blood taste like?_) He answers each and every one, not hesitating or getting nervous because he is grateful that she has dropped the subject on why he looks sort of upset and because he is actually quite preoccupied with her outfit. It is still the middle of the night, and she is still in her pajamas.

"I never took you as a Sex Pistols fan," He says, interrupting her train of thought as she searches for her next question.

She grunts a sound of confusion before looking down at her shirt. "Oh," She mumbles. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Soul notes that the shirt is much to big for her, probably a man's. An icy fist clenches around his heart. "S'that yer boyfriend's?" He mumbles, eyes glancing at her.

Maka shoots him a glare. "No," She growls, she stands up and turns around, walking off. Soul is startled by her abrupt departure and he jumps off her bed and follows after her. Maka tries not to giggle at his puppy-like personality and rounds the corner into her cramped little kitchenette. She's hungry and perhaps she had left a little too quickly. Ugh, she's _way _too used to living alone. She apologizes inside her head for being so insensitive, even though she knows he cannot hear.

"I'm sorry," Soul says softly. "I didn't mean to offend you..." He awkwardly shuffles his feet and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. He is still curious as to where the shirt came from, but he doesn't press any further.

"Calm down, Rico Suave," Maka giggled, "It's fine. Do you want something?" She observes him closely as she says this, gesturing a hand in the vague direction of her cupboards. She watches as his eyes linger on _her_ for a minute before sliding back to the direction of her pantry.

"I'll have some tea, I guess." He says quietly.

Maka nods and sets to work. "Coming right up," She says before bending over to retrieve her kettle from the cupboard beside her stove. There is a bang, a clatter, and a muffled curse as she pulls the beat up utensil from its residence. She grins triumphantly at him and he smiles back.

As she fills the kettle with water, his eyes absorb every detail about her apartment. He notes the crappy stereo propped up against the wall, CDs and cassette tapes piled haphazardly around it. Her sofa is natty with suspicious-looking stains covering the material, but he also notices the thrift store bargain tag still clinging to an insignificant square of fabric under the sofa arm. Her apartment is neat and clean, but in obvious disrepair. There is only one bedroom and he can only see her clothes strewn across the off-white carpet. He breathes a sigh of relief.

He can smell her in this apartment. It permeates the air and clogs his nostrils and there is no way he would ever be able to ignore it. It tugs at him and makes him want to drink from her again, but he can't even bring himself to hurt her any longer. he finds it disgusting how attached he is after only a few encounters, but he actually quite enjoys being this close to her, smelling her and never feeding. It's quite masochistic, actually—being constantly burdened by her delicious scent, but never allowing himself to drink from her.

The whistling of the kettle breaks him from his thoughts and he blinks stupidly from his position by the counter. "Done already?" He asks gruffly, eyes following her. He considers the fact that he might watch her a little _too _much, but then again, life was fleeting and he had come to appreciate such things in his old age.

"Yup," She says, popping the _p_ at the end. She humms a tune as she pours the hot water over the tea bags in the mugs and then carefully places little ceramic lids over them so they can steep. She literally throws the kettle into the sink, however, and it makes an unholy crashing sound against the other dirty dishes waiting to be washed.

Neither party flinches.

"Maka..." He begins slowly, avoiding eye contact once again.

"Yeah? She asks, pausing momentarily as she reaches to open a cupboard. She retrieves a box of cheez-its from its place on the shelf before turning back to him.

"I..." He takes a breath before saying quickly, "I think you should let me walk you around when it gets dark out."

She looks at him quizzically, munching on a few cheesy snacks. She quirks an eyebrow and swallows. "Why, exactly?" She replies.

Soul chews on his lip nervously and his mind floats back to the words that Marie had said to him earlier that day. _He will find you_. "Well, Maka, there are a number of reasons," He says.

It came out colder than he had expected and she glares at him. "I don't think that'll be necessary," She says dangerously, verdant eyes trained on his ruby ones.

"Maka, listen to me—"

"I can handle anything anyone can dish out, you don't need to worry about me." It is a vain statement, but it means something to her. But what hasn't sunk in is the fact that _vampires are real_ and she is involved in their world.

"Maka!" He shouts. His hands clutch around her upper arms and he leans in close. He knows this would be easier if he would just _tell _her what was going on in the shadows these days, if he would tell her what Marie had said to him. But he couldn't bring himself to open that door, she would be at even more of a risk than before.

"Get out," Maka says quietly. She sees the look of horror and hurt on his face, so she quickly rights herself. "I need to think about this. Do you have a phone number?"

He jumps back a little, or more likely flinches and scurries to pull a pen from a jar he spots on the counter. He jots down his cell-phone number on her outstretched palm. and awkwardly shuffles back into her bed room, sufficiently cowed. Sure enough, he can see the sky lightening outside.

"I'm sorry," Maka says. The words taste bitter in her mouth. She is _never_ the one to apologize. But she sucks it up because this is a man she barely knows. Because this is a vampire and because she is now _involved_ and she better be nice because she realize that she does in fact need him. The notion that she is involved in a world in which monsters exist suddenly becomes so painfully clear, she feels her knees get weak.

"I'm really vain and really stupid and I'm sorry I'm really sorry." She continues. Her voice is breaking a little bit and she's not entirely sure why. She feels like an emotional, piece of shit and she tugs on her pig tails to alleviate some insecurity. "I know you're only trying to help me and all, I'm so sorry I can't appreciate—"

She does not hear, see, or feel him moving until his arms are circled around her in a tight hug. He buries his nose in her hair even though he knows he might not be able to hold back if he does. He begins to shake around her and Maka pegs it on heightened emotion, but it really isn't. Soul takes a deep breath—something that probably wasn't such a good idea—and starts to speak. "I know, it's okay." He feels her bury her face in his chest and he somehow manages to stop the shiver that threatens to ripple through him. His voice is rough when he continues, "I shouldn't have suggested something so strange."

She looks up at him then and he leans down a little bit in retaliation. Their faces are close, perhaps a bit too close for Maka's tastes. She can feel a bubbling warmth in her gut and she tamps it down with all her willpower. "It's all my fault," She says. "I hurt your feelings, you're only trying to help, y-you're only trying to help," She hiccups, repeating her words over and over again. Tears are spilling softly down her cheeks and she's crying into a vampire's chest and somehow she's okay with it.

"Hey, now," He starts. His voice is deep and soothing when he pats he back stiffly. Soul knows that he has never been very good at emotional contact, but he'll try because really, _he's_ the one at fault. If he had never given into temptation, if he had never followed his nose to her apartment, if he had never drank the most delicious blood he had ever tasted, then Maka wouldn't even be in this mess. "There's nothing to worry about, just call me when you decide."

"No," She says. She pauses for breath and then launches into yet another spiel. "I've decided right now, I want you to walk me, that would be nice. I don't know how we should do this though, I don't want you to be burned by the sun or anything."

He laughs a little at her concern, tapping the crease between her eyebrows. He flinches away quickly, realizing that the touch may have been too intimate for their relationship, whatever it might be.

He's eyeing the curve of her throat appreciatively when she clears it. "Soul?" She asks, waving a hand in front of his face.

He looks up and says with a mischievous grin, "Let me take care of everything."

Their tea lies forgotten when he jumps out her window and flies home.

.

.

.

Maka should have known something like this would happen. She groans loudly and fights the urge to face palm when she seems what she can only assume is Soul walking up the path. It's close to Halloween, if his outfit is any indication, and he seems to find it absolutely hilarious. He is grinning stupidly when he lifts his mask so she'll know it's him and Maka feels her face flush from embarrassment. Her combat boots shuffle awkwardly on the pavement as he approaches her and she avoids eye contact.

Soul, on the other hand is having the time of his life. He's out in the day time again, walking through a public area in a grim reaper costume complete with long cloak, skeleton gloves, a huge scythe and a really goofy skull mask. It offers protection—sunlight cannot touch his skin and so he remains unscathed. On top of that, he gets to see Maka in clothes other than her pajamas and he gets to walk beside her on an outing. He is grateful that the mask hides his eyes as they travel over her slim body. She's wearing plain navy thigh-highs and he's trying desperately to ignore the creamy strips of skin just before the hem of her ridiculously large and thick cardigan that doubles as a mini-dress obstructs his view. It seems she is not wearing a skirt underneath, something that makes his blood boil even though his heart no longer beats.

Maka thumbs the wide, curved collar of her shirt, which is buttoned all the way up to the top, much to Soul's disappointment. He forgives her this one demure fashion statement in favor of eyeing her long legs.

"You are so weird," Maka says, having waited patiently for him to say something. His mask is obstructing her view and she has no idea if he's even looking at her, so she turns and walks off down the street, satchel bouncing against her hip. She gestures for him to follow, and he does so, ruby eyes now trained on he sway of her ass as he walks behind her, loyal as a dog. He clenches his hand on his plastic scythe and walks faster to catch up with her.

_Keep it under control, Soul Eater, don't give in,_ He tells himself._ There are more important things to do than staring at her ass. Look somewhere else, watch for danger_.

He reluctantly pulls his eyes away from her and scans the dense forest that surrounds the small town, he sees nothing but a small rabbit loping on a grassy hill. He sighs loudly and Maka looks at him.

"Let's stop for some coffee and a snack before we go to the bookstore," She offers kindly, smiling at him. He nods and follows her into a small, hole-in-the-wall café (creatively named "Joe's Cuppa Joe"), holding the door open for her and quickly scanning the streets and houses for any suspicious activity before the door swings shut behind them with the jingle of a bell.

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.

.

A pair of droopy, piss-colored eyes watch as the door closes behind the pair. The same rabbit Soul had seen earlier now lies dead and ripped apart, staining the grass with ruby droplets and a sweet coppery smell.

"Giriko!" A voice yells. "Hurry, up! We need help cutting this one down!"

The owner of the droopy, piss-colored eyes turns to the direction the voice was coming from. He runs his tongue over sharp teeth, stained with blood.

A chainsaw motor is revved.

A tree is buzzed through. Creaks. And then falls.

.

.

.

Soul and Maka are standing outside her bookshop, coffee and snacks purchased and in hand when Soul suddenly feels the need to laugh. She turns around abruptly, interrupted in her task of trying to unlock the door and looks at him, puzzled beyond measure. "What is it?" She asks.

His voice is muffled by his mask when he replies. "Look, what a coincidence." he gestures to the sign over her bookshop with his scythe. There, in Old English lettering are the words _Books for the Soul._

"I didn't mean books for _you_ when I picked the name, Soul Eater." She says his full title dangerously and with venom to accompany her embarrassment. But he cannot take her seriously when she is blushing so hard.

She manages to get the lock open while he's distracted with the attractive image of her pouty lips set in frustration and she pushes the door open, ushering him inside as she does so.

Soul is actually quite impressed with the collection she has. Everything is neatly organized, but (he notices with mild amusement) not neatly placed. There are sections clearly labeled, authors clearly placed in alphabetical order, but there are books shoved in literally every nook and cranny he can find. They are piled and stacked in dangerously swaying towers wherever there is not a shelf. Narrow pathways remain for customers to walk through, as if the books were there first and someone had carved the trails away for convenience. The windows are nice, large and clean. They bathe the room and the books with in it in a homey glow. It smells like old paper and ink

"This is nice," He compliments as he plops himself down in on of the mismatched, plush armchairs crammed in between piles of books. He spots a small music section in a corner, it too is organized neatly, but not neatly placed. He wonders if she has any jazz.

"Thanks," She says brightly as she flips the sign on the door to "open". She nibbles lightly at her lemon pound cake that she had bought from the café earlier and sits down in yet another mismatched armchair behind the front desk. She watches with fascination as Soul removes his reaper outfit, gingerly avoiding the light from the window as he does so. The cloak sticks to his shirt when he pulls it over his head and she admires the honey-colored abs she is graced with.

"See something you like?" He smirks as he tosses the cloak over the armchair, mask and scythe propped against it.

She is tempted to say yes, to gauge his reaction, but all that comes out is a shocked squeak. She turns back to her lemon pound cake and eats it angrily, if that's even possible. He laughs at her antics and they sit in silence for a few moments before Soul announces that he's going to explore. She nods and he escapes to the back room behind her desk.

Truthfully, he had only seen a customer through the window and, having deemed them harmless, found that he would rather not deal with people at the moment. Especially not Maka and her not entirely unwelcome licking and sucking of her fingers after she had finished a treat.

He traverses through a small kitchen with a mini fridge and modest hotplate. There is a microwave and toaster oven as well. He assumes this was where she cooks her meals during long shifts into the night. He continues—through only other door in the room—to the left and finds himself in what he can only describe as yet another book store. He knows that it still belongs to Maka. He can smell her. Every book in the room is raggedy and well-used, soaked through with her scent. For a moment he thinks that this might be her personal collection—she _is_ quite the bookworm—but the same filing system she had used in the main room is used here as well. He picks up a strange, blue book with no title on the cover and no title on the main page, only an author. He sees a price written in the corner in her hand writing, and this proves his assumption. He walks back into the kitchen and pauses when a white piece of notebook paper catches his eye. He turns around and sees, taped to the door that lead to the back room, a sign that reads:

"Haven't found your Soul Book yet? Behind this door are the books for the brave and the curious! Books with no souls for souls with no books!"

Soul raises an eyebrow and walks back into the main room. He would ask questions later. There are a few people scattered about, perusing Maka's collection, occasionally walking up to her to purchase something. She has finished her coffee now and Soul can smell the pumpkin spice latte on her skin. He bend down and nuzzled her hair, then her neck, enjoying the yelp she squeaks out.

"Soul! Quit it! There are customers here!" She hisses under her breath, swatting him away with a hand. He chuckles lowly and moves back to the armchair on which his costume lay. He sits down again and observes the costumers bustling about.

Apparently, news spread fast. Maka notices this, much to her dismay, only when there seems to be a sudden and unexpected increase in her female customers. She glared at Soul from her position by the cash register and he only smirks in reply.

"Oh, Maka!" Someone sing-songs as they traipse through her front door. Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit. Why, why, why, why, why.

"Yes, Liz?" Maka drawls, not looking up from her ledger even though her gut has just been launched into a sea of turmoil. Her bookstore was crowded already and now _Liz_ had shown up. Apparently, with others as well. Tsubaki, dragging along her shouting boyfriend, Black Star, shuffles up behind the buxom blonde. Then come Patty, Kid, and finally, a tall boy with platinum blonde hair that Maka doesn't recognize.

Soul is standing beside her in a flash, his arms bracing himself against the counter. He offers an intimidating grin to the group that Maka appears loathe to entertain.

Unfortunately, intimidating is what catches Liz's eye.

"Oh_ ho_, now who might this be?" Liz asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at Soul.

"A friend," She says bluntly. She doesn't know exactly what they are yet, after all, better to play it safe. _Even though he's touched you in places no one's touched before,_ her conscience adds.

She misses Soul's clenched jaw, but Liz doesn't. "Yeah, right," She grins. She's seen that look before, but never at such a level of intensity. She's a little jealous, to be honest. "Anyway," Liz says, dropping the subject, "We stopped by because we ran into an old friend at Joe's and we decided to bring him over here to say hi."

"Who is it?" Maka asks warily. Meanwhile, Soul scans the people in front of him and all he can see is a tuft of platinum blonde hair—oh.

"_Hiro!_" Maka exclaims, jumping from her armchair behind the desk. She looks like she's about to jump over the counter, but seems to have second thoughts in the name of modesty, so she stumbles around it and flings herself into the arms of the stranger. Once again, Liz is the only one who seems to notice Soul's clenched jaw.

"Maka!" The boy called Hiro shouts back. He hugs her in return and his arms slip around her waist. Soul cannot suppress his voice any longer.

"So, Maka," He says cooly. "Gonna introduce my to your friend?" He leans his weight against the counter and Maka tries to ignore the way his plain white t-shirt stretches over his torso.

"This is Hiro!" She says, gesturing to boy. His hair really is platinum blond, it seems, Soul can't smell any hair dye on him. He gives the kid a once over. He holds himself with confidence if Soul is being kind. If he isn't then he would say arrogance. His jeans are ridiculously tight, but his sweater is baggy and a kind of faded sky-blue. His shoes are strangely clean. _He_ is strangely clean.

"'Sup," Hiro says, nodding his head in Soul's direction.

"We've been friends since high school," Maka cuts in. "But then he moved away and only visited on christmas break," She adds, punching him playfully on the shoulder.

Hiro laughs and punches her back.

Soul isn't happy, not happy one bit. He moves deftly around the counter, casually swinging an arm possessively around Maka's waist. He uses his other hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Maka whips her head around to stare at him, messy bun bouncing along with her. He only grins and turns to look at Hiro smugly.

His smile grows wider when he sees the frown on that pretty boy's face. But then it falls when he sees the two distinct pinpricks on the side of his neck.

_(A/N: WOOOOAAAAAHHH WHHAAATTT?! Hiro's got VAMPIRE BITES?! Haha! find out why on the next chapter! Also, be warned. I don't plan on making him some love interest that broke Maka's heart or some bull shit like that. I really don't think a girl like Maka would ever go for someone like Hiro. I have big plans for this little one, however. Big plans. MWAHAHAHAHAHA)_


	7. Chapter 7

Soul found this blonde, bad-smelling, slip of a boy very annoying. The worst part, however, was that Maka could tell.

"Soul, what the hell is your problem?" She seethed, tugging him away from the group as they faithfully chatted up that smug-looking piece of shit. They were still in Maka's shop, but he had heard snippets of them wanting to go out for lunch later.

Soul, tearing his eyes away from the twin pinpricks on the _boy's_ neck, swung a pair of crimson eyes to meet forest green. He was hit by her scent again and it really only hit him then how much he missed the taste of her. He felt old in that moment, ancient, dusty, and skeletal. "I—he seems a little untrustworthy, Maka."

"_Untrustworthy?!_" She whispered, her voice hissing out. He flinched back. "That kid was one of my best friends when we were in high school. What do you mean by _untrustworthy_?!"

The vampire bit his lip and he felt his lip split under the pressure applied by his fangs. He licked it, sealing it shut before he spoke her and the tiny bit of pain pulled him back into focus. Bad idea. "Maka. Look at him," He said. His voice came out husky and deep. Maka felt her body shiver but chose to ignore it in favor of warily turning her eyes from the vampire in front of her and onto the slight young man near her friends.

Soul watched hopefully as Maka glanced Hiro up and down, taking in everything from his too-tight-pants to his too-baggy-sweater. He wanted her to figure this out for herself, but at the same time, he knew that she wasn't just going to suddenly read his mind and know exactly what he was thinking. He had definitely learned his lesson in that respect. And yet, he knew that Maka was an observant girl. She could _figure out _exactly what he was talking about if he nudged her in the right direction. And so, he relied on her fantastic skill at observation and hoped to whatever deity that hadn't abandoned him that she would be able to spot the tiny little pricks on her childhood friends neck.

The sharp intake of breath—not quite a gasp—told him that she had. She turned to look at him, a questioning look in her gaze. She had faith that _Soul_ wasn't responsible for what she could only assume was the bite of a vampire on Hiro's neck. She quickly hammered out a few facts however; one being that, since Hiro was out in the sunlight and was most definitely not carrying an "ironic" halloween costume to keep him from turning to ash, or melting, or cooking, or whatever it was vampires did when caught in the sunlight. The second was that it was most definitely not Soul who was responsible for this. She examined him closely, seeing the grim assurance in his eyes, begging her to trust him, and she did because (though it might be a stupid idea to trust a vampire), she had grown attached to the him during the few weeks she had known him and the few days she had actually spent time with him. The third and final fact she discovered, was that Hiro did seem a bit...off. He wasn't the glib and actually quite dumb young man she had once known. He seemed, for lack of a better word, swankier. Oh, wait, suave would work just fine. Yes. Suave and swanky were the first words that came to Maka's mind once she turned her questioning gaze from Soul back to her friend.

"I honestly have no idea what to think of this," Maka monotoned, cocking her head to one side and folding her arms across her chest. She squinted at Hiro, who was currently engaged in conversation with her other friends and therefore didn't notice their scrutiny.

Soul couldn't help the sigh of relief that ghosted from his mouth and over the top of her head. "Don't think, just listen," He said, ignoring the glare she shot him. "I don't know what his deal is, but he's certainly been fed from. Does he seem off to you?"

Maka relayed her thoughts on Hiro's change in demeanor. "He's definitely different than I remember. He certainly was never that blonde."

"Yeah, then we have a teensy bit of a problem."

"And that problem would be...?" She trailed off, folding her arms across her chest. Soul managed to only stare at her chest for a split second.

"He seems to be undergoing a partial change."

Maka fought back a scoff. "Why, thank you so much for being specific. I'm glad _that's_ all sorted out."

Soul rolled his eyes. "I was actually _going_ to explain before you so rudely interrupted." He paused, reading the slightly apologetic look in her eyes before continuing. "We vampires, as I'm sure you're aware, live pretty much forever. Anything less would be severely uncool. Sometimes we get a little lonely."

Maka was determined to ignore the way he looked at her when he said that, so she piped up, "So, what, are you saying he's, like, an undead servant or something?" She had heard snippets here and there when she was a kid about undead servants and the like, but she really couldn't label Hiro as something like that. He looked far to pretty to be undead.

Soul snorted at her comment. "More or less. I think—"

"Hey, Maka!" Hiro called from the circle of Maka's other friends. She and Soul flinched in surprise. Soul eyed Hiro warily, letting his arm curl protectively around Maka's hips without actually touching her. He spotted the flash of something across too-blue eyes and let his lips curl back over sharp canines.

"Yeah, Hiro?" Maka asked, smiling brightly. Soul felt her tense next to him and he smirked internally. She was a smart girl. He was proud, almost.

"Looks like we're about ready to head off. The girls want to go to In 'N' Out. Wanna join us?" Hiro said, stepping toward them as the others chatted amongst themselves, Black Star shouting enthusiastically about Tsubaki's beauty.

Maka is about to politely decline, but Soul cut in instead, "Yes, I think we will. Thanks for asking.

Hiro looked as if he's about to tell Soul that he wasn't even talking to him in the first place, but kept his smile light and happy. "Great, do you guys need a ride?"

"Sure," Soul interjected once more, catching Maka with her mouth open.

Hiro eyed them once more before spinning on his heel and shouting a suggestion to leave at the others. They all followed faithfully, strangely obedient–even Black Star.

Soul was about to pull on the costume again when Maka said, "Hold on a minute, it's embarrassing to walk around with you like that." Then, she disappeared into the back room for a second, returning with a large, grey hoodie. "You can borrow this to save myself from explaining your costume to Black Star."

"Thanks," He murmured, genuinely shocked. Then he noticed that the hoodie looks as if it belongs to a man. He thought of her Sex Pistols shirt and a curl of jealousy once again wormed its way into his gut.

Then, he slipped it roughly over his head, pulling the hood up and grabbed her hand. Maka looked up in surprise, about to question his sudden attempt at intimacy when suddenly his lips crashed down against hers, drawing a shocked mewl from her. Her hands flew up to grip the front of the hoodie, just as he took advantage of her lips parting in a gasp, curling his flexible tongue inside her. He fisted his hand against the back of her neck, sinking his fangs ever-so-slightly into her bottom lip before pulling away abruptly, panting softly and bent down to her eye level.

Maka felt an uncountable number of questions threaten to bubble up inside of her, but before she could ask, she heard Hiro call from outside, "You two coming?!"

She stared up at Soul, unmoving. His crimson eyes spoke volumes and she found herself positively empowered by the helpless, infatuated, and yet _brave_ look on his face.

"Yeah, we'll be there in a second," She answered.

* * *

_(A/N: Wow, everyone I'm really sorry it has taken such a ridiculously long time to update. I can offer no excuses—I was simply very lazy and it is entirely my fault. In a desperate attempt to update as soon as possible, This chapter was really short. In fact, other chapters may start to get shorter in an effort to update sooner. I hope you can stick through this. Thanks for reading!)_


	8. Chapter 8

_(A/N: Yeah, that's right. Another one up. Bask in the glory. Read it up.)_

* * *

"So Maka, how did you and Soul meet?" Hiro asked. They were in Hiro's car, following Tsubaki's minivan and Kid's Camaro.

Maka flinched visibly and Soul moved quickly for damage control. "We met at the park near her apartment actually," He said. It was nothing short of the truth he realized.

"Oh, that's interesting," Hiro replied in a tone that told Soul he was anything _but_ interested. "Tell me, Maka, what in the world made you get up and talk to a complete stranger? That's not the Maka I know," He added, voice sugary sweet.

Maka was tempted to smack him upside the head for claiming to know her so well, especially after leaving for so long, but she decided that she and Soul needed more information than what the wily blonde could give them at the moment. She decided then that the best thing she could do would be to play along. "Well, I just...I felt a spark, y'know?" She knew it was cheesy, but she plowed on. "I felt it in my heart."

She looked at Soul out of the corner of her eye and was positively mortified to see him struggling not to outright cackle at her. Instead, he seemed to be satisfied with sniggering until it looked like he wasn't even breathing anymore. If only he actually needed air. Maybe he would choke on it and die.

"Well, that's quite the tale, Maka. I'm glad you could finally find someone," Hiro said, smiling goofily, the grin not meeting his eyes.

Maka felt her face burn as she stammered to correct the situation. "Oh no! We're just friends, nothing like what you're thinking!" Her traitorous thoughts flicked back to the feel of his fingers dancing on her overheated skin while she had still thought it was a dream. She had never been fully awake when he touched her and that almost made her wish that she had been. She felt warmth pool low in her belly, so she instead focused on playing with the hem of her sweater, struggling to ignore Hiro's musical laughter and her own burning cheeks.

Meanwhile, Soul was thanking every single deity he could think of for somehow giving him the strength to resist drinking from her before they had left. He could smell her right now and if he had any sort of lifeblood in him at the moment, he would have been sporting a rather embarrassing erection in the back of Hiro's car.

He could smell her. By God, he could _smell _her. He had absolutely no idea what had set her off, but he could smell arousal leaking from her every pore. She didn't look at him and he gave silent thanks once more, for if he had even been forced to look at those dazzling green eyes, he might actually take her right there in the back seat.

Soul clenched his hands tightly in his jeans, finding purchase with his sharper-than-a-human's fingernails cutting through denim. He bit his lip again, harder this time.

The sudden lurch of the vehicle as they pulled into the In N Out parking lot seemed to jolt both occupants of the back seat into reality and Maka's foggy cloud of arousal dissipated almost immediately.

"All righty then," Hiro chirruped, unbuckling his seat belt and stepping outside of the car. Maka and Soul followed suit, the latter quickly pulling up his hood to protect himself from the still-present rays of sunlight. "Why do you always put your hood up, Soul?" Hiro suddenly asked, eyes making a calculating journey over Soul's form.

Maka looked like she was about to implode under the stress of the question, but Soul was prepared. It spent the last couple centuries skillfully evading such questions. He replied smoothly and with diction, "It's the hair. People tend to freak out a little when they see it. The hood also hides the eyes a little better."

"Maybe you should invest in some slick shades," Hiro laughed, his voice and smile sickly sweet as he stuffed his keys back into his pocket (with perhaps more force than necessary) and made his way toward the front door of the restaurant, not bothering to check if Maka and Soul were following.

"Does he have super vampire hearing?" Maka said as softly as she could muster, having waited until Hiro was a good bit away.

"He shouldn't. The heightened senses usually come after the vulnerability to sunlight," He answered, taking her hand in his as they followed the blond head of hair into the greasy establishment.

"Well in that case, nice save," Maka smirked, reaching the door first and holding it out for him as they slinked inside, coming up behind the rest of their party.

"Thanks," Soul grinned. The light streaming in through the windows encouraged him to keep his hood up, so he ended up looking at her from under the snowy bangs pressed into his fore head.

As they moved up in the line, Maka was vaguely aware of the skater boys eying her from their table a few feet away. She was also vaguely aware of the fact that they were much to young for her—maybe sixteen or seventeen.

Soul, on the other hand, really couldn't give two shits. And, with a vicious, red-eyed glare, the huddle of boys looked sharply back to their food and didn't pay much attention to her any longer.

"I'll have a cheeseburger combo and a strawberry milkshake," Maka said to the cashier. Then she turned to him. "You want anything, Soul? I'm pretty sure you don't have any money, so I'm buying."

He looked a little shocked, but muttered a soft rumble of thanks before placing his order. "Double bacon cheeseburger and a large drink, please," He said. The cashier girl raised an eyebrow, trying to discern his face amongst the shadow. But, she was unsuccessful and merely rang up the total. Maka paid and they sat down on the vinyl waiting chairs.

"Isn't anyone going to look for a table?" Maka asked warily.

Liz piped up from he place between Kid and her sister. "We're gonna walk over to the park across the street and have a picnic or whatever," She finished her sentence with a pop over her bubblegum.

Maka rolled her eyes, fighting a grin. "All right."

.

.

.

A half an hour later, they were seated on a patch of grass in a large circle, talking about school and catching up with Hiro who, apparently was, "Just a lame old music major. There's a lot of shows near my apartment though, we should all go together."

It was around this point that Soul felt himself zoning out. He really didn't want to spend his time listening to Hiro blather about his indie band (He was a horrible musician, Soul could tell. Hiro didn't have the hands for it.) and about how hard it was for him to find a girlfriend because he "wasn't just looking for sex" but rather "A nice girl to drink tea with and cuddle while listening to sick tunes."

But perhaps it was for the best. If Soul were actually paying attention to Hiro, he wouldn't have noticed the pair of figures standing near the bathrooms on the other side of the park, leaning against the wall under a rather dainty-looking parasol.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Soul grunted, standing up. Maka threw him a look, but Soul replied with one of his own. _I'm fine. I'll be right back._

.

.

.

His trek across the park was a slow one, he didn't want to give himself away by going at top vampire speed just to get to the figures a little quicker. As he got closer to the pair under the parasol, he realized that it was indeed Stein and Marie waiting for him. He gave them a pointed look as he finally reached them, and together, they walked out of sight behind the bathrooms to continue their conversation.

"Hello, Soul," Stein smiled (a bit manically) as they rounded the final corner. He was still wearing some sort of not-so-inconspicuous traveling cloak. "I see you're fitting in well amongst the humans."

"I suppose so," Soul drawled, red eyes making a slow pass over the pair in front of him. "What brings you two out here?"

Stein's manic smile falters a little bit and he grows suddenly serious. "Well, we were trying to keep an eye on that _abomination_ over there, but then we realized that you were here. We figured we would...compare notes if you will."

Soul raised an eyebrow. He could only assume they were talking about Hiro. "Well we can start with why you just called him an abomination."

"Goodness, did you never pay attention all those times I explained the mechanics of your new life?" Stein faked insult quite well, if Soul were being honest.

"I never pay attention to you. You know that."

Marie took her chance to speak up. "He's an Incubus. Well, the beginnings of one, at least."

Soul scoffed. "Well, that's hardly an abomination, Stein."

"He's started drinking blood already," Stein added, his face remaining impassive.

Soul nearly choked on his own spit. "Wha—are you serious?!"

Marie nodded sagely. "From what we understand his maker started changing him because they _knew_ he would turn out like this. As I'm sure you're aware, Soul, different paces and techniques in a change can affect the outcome. Yours was one of the rarer ones. Your change was completed the _second_ after you died. Just in the nick of time. You became something both shade and vampire, much like ancient Lemures from Roman times."

"We appreciated your Maker's eye for the classics—for a time," Stein cut in, causing the now dumbstruck Soul to stare at him instead. "Then, we wondered if perhaps your existence in two worlds at once would prove...inconvenient for the rest of us."

Soul gaped a little. This was all news to him. "So...for a while..._I_ was the abomination?"

"Quite right," Stein said. The manic grin was back. "But no longer. You needn't worry. The same fear of inconvenience, if you will, is happening now. Regarding your little friend, Hiro."

"He's not my friend," Soul bit out.

Stein's grin grew wider. "Marie, my dear. If you will?"

The woman in question nodded firmly and began to speak once more. "We think they're trying to turn him into a Kukudhi—The perfect vampire."

Soul almost choked on his own spit again. "What?" Kukudhi were forbidden for a number of reasons, one of them being the fact that, if created successfully, a kukudhi would just be a big fish in a little pond. And, well frankly, none of the other vampires would get anything to eat.

"You heard me, young man," Marie said sternly. "They're trying to make the perfect vampire—one who can walk out during the day without cover, does not need to rely on his grave or coffin for rest, and will eventually grow so powerful, no one can stop him. I think their trying to speed up the process somehow, as normally it takes quite a long time for the vampire blood to..._ferment_ in his system. But whoever it is, his maker, I suppose, is trying to achieve his Kukudhi status through more scientific and experimental means. There've probably been many before Hiro. Many failures."

"Well, that doesn't seem too different from a few of the other vampires I've met. That doesn't sound too different from _me_ in fact."

Stein and Marie exchanged quick glances. "We think your Maker may have been trying to make you into a Kukudhi as well."

And then, for the third time in the span of twenty minutes, Soul almost choked on his own spit. "What do you mean?!" He hissed out.

"It seems—" Stein began, but then he paused, looking somewhere over Soul's shoulder. "It seems as if a sweet little young thing is in search of you, dear Soul." The manic grin became positively gruesome as he suddenly pulled Marie tight against him.

"Soul!" Maka's voice called from not too far off. Soul flinched, but kept his eyes on Stein and Marie.

"Wait, you can't just leave!" He growled. "I need answers!"

"And you'll get them, kiddo," Stein said, looking as if he were about to dissolve in a fit of giggles.

"Oh dear," Marie sighed. "It appears he needs his medicine." She placed a delicate hand on the side of Stein's face. "Soul, sweetie, we'll meet you tomorrow morning at your house. That should give you enough time to tell poor Maka about all this."

"Wait—!" Soul tried, reaching a hand out to stop them

But Stein had already whisked the cloak around the him and Marie, muffling his crazed glee as the pair disappeared with a poof.

Soul stood there for a moment in stunned silence.

"Soul?" Maka called, finally coming up behind him. "Soul! How long does it take to use the restroom?! Jeez!"

"Maka," He said, turning around to face her. He placed his hands on either side of her hips and brought her close to him, not quite hugging her. He almost burst out laughing right there with her in his arms. To think—he had hoped that he could just spend his time with her and have her be his bride and do things normal for a vampire-human relationship. But no, his luck had decided that it would be a perfect time for Soul to be on the receiving end of a cosmic butt-fuck. "We'd better go home. It's getting dark. And I have some explaining to do."

She looked up at him then, Green eyes narrowed suspiciously. When she saw the look in his eyes, like he had just learned much more than he had ever wanted to, she closed her eyes and groaned, dropping her fore head onto his chest with a thump.

"fuuuuuck," She moaned.

* * *

_(A/N: Well, it seems as if things are starting to pick up a little. Please ignore the extreme bastardization of vampire lore. I only did a quick skim through wikipedia. I love you all, I hope you are enjoying this so far, my pretty little ones)_


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